The Strength of the Righteous
by Sisiutil
Summary: Angel, Doyle, and Cordy encounter a group of vampires who, though soulless, want to be a force for good. But lacking the benefit of a moral compass, can they be trusted? Unfinished.
1. Prologue

**The Strength of the Righteous **

_An Angel fanfic by Sisiutil _

* * *

This fanfic takes place early in the first season of Angel and features Angel, Cordelia, and Doyle.

This story is fictional and does not contain any references to any actual persons living or dead. All characters contained in this story who appeared in Angel are the property of Mutant Enemy, etc.

* * *

**Prologue **

"Hey, champ! How's life? Or, in your case, un-life?"

Angel, seated at the desk in his office, tipped his book down and glanced up at Doyle. The slender Irish half-demon, dressed in his usual brown leather jacket and astonishingly ugly shirt, stood in the doorway of Angel's office at Angel Investigations. He seemed unusually chipper to Angel. Of course, everybody seemed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed compared to Angel, but such things had degrees.

"Doyle," Angel said simply, partly as a greeting, partly as a question. The vampire's eyes glanced at the curious item Doyle held in his hand. "That's…not for me, is it?"

"This?" Doyle responded, holding up the large plastic cup. "No! This is a double chocolate chip iced mochacinno with whipped cream, my undead friend. Hardly the sort of beverage to offer a vampire—unless I mixed a little blood in. Which, now that I mention it, is a sickenin' thought, isn't it?"

"Uh, yeah," Angel said, his handsome features wrinkling in mild disgust. "I didn't know you liked that sort of thing."

"Oh, it's not for me!" Doyle answered. "No liquid passes these lips unless it's gone through a distillery first. No, this is for Cordelia. Just my latest brilliant stratagem to win the girl over."

Angel's dark, heavy brows raised in mild surprise. "You really think she'll drink that?"

"Oh, yeah!" Doyle insisted. "It's got…chocolate, an' sugar, an'…" he glanced at the drink, frowning as he attempted to discern its ingredients. "And, uh, caffeine, an' fat. Boy, mix in a little grain alcohol, and you've got your five basic food groups covered!" As Angel stared at him in mild incredulity, Doyle looked behind himself at the empty reception area. "Where is Cordelia of Sunnydale Farm, anyway?"

"Getting the mail," Angel grumbled. It was one of the few clerical duties Cordelia did well, if Angel ignored the fact that it usually took her more than an hour to accomplish, since his "secretary" usually decided that a trip to the lobby necessitated doing some shopping as well.

The front door to the office opened, and Cordelia walked in, her long brown hair loose around her face, her dark eyes rolling up in exasperation. She wore a tan-colored sleeveless silk top with a dark floral print skirt.

"God, I hate getting to the mailbox at the same time as Tom, the soon-to-be-disgruntled postal worker. I swear he's two delivery routes away from a CNN-worthy hostage situation," Cordelia complained loudly as she walked to her desk and tossed the few meager letters—mostly bills—addressed to Angel Investigations upon it.

Doyle turned to cast an admiring glance at her, while Angel stood up from his desk and walked past Doyle to retrieve his mail, since it never occurred to Cordelia to walk the extra six steps into his office to hand it to him. Undaunted—well, in truth, very daunted, but without enough sense of self-preservation to stop himself, Doyle stepped forward, extending the frosty mochacinno towards Cordelia. He coughed nervously, then spoke.

"Uh, hi, Cordelia. This is for y--"

Doyle would later acknowledge ruefully that the vision could not have come to him at a worse possible time. His body spasmed violently, his free hand slapped against his forehead, and the iced mochacinno flew from his hand. Cordelia watched in frozen horror as the dark, icy drink exploded from Doyle's hand and sprayed all over her designer silk top. Oblivious to her plight, Doyle collapsed to the floor while the ice-cold mixture of coffee, ice, and whipped cream ran indecorously down Cordelia's body.

"Doyle!" Angel exclaimed, and knelt down next to the writhing Irishman's body. Cordelia stood, stock still, making sounds like someone struggling to breathe past something that was stuck in their throat.

"He's having a vision!" Angel declared, and apparently a vivid one. He held Doyle's head so it wouldn't thrash against any of the furniture.

"I don't care if he's having a CORONARY!!!" Cordelia shouted. "LOOK AT WHAT HE DID TO ME!!"

"Huh?" Angel said, glancing up from where he knelt over Doyle and noticing the most unfortunate fate of Doyle's latest love offering. "Oh. Uh…sorry," the vampire said, lamely.

"THIS IS A DONNA KARAN!!" Cordelia screeched. "What the HELL was that lame little leprechaun THINKING!?!"

"Well, I think he meant for you to drink the thing, not wear it," Angel offered.

"Uhhnngg…" Doyle grunted from the floor. "Angel…vamp nest. Wiltshire, at…uh…Smythe. Old apartments…basement. They have a fresh victim…"

"I'm on it," Angel said as he helped his friend sit up. "You all right?" Doyle nodded, his face still pained.

"WHY are you paying so much attention to HIM?" Cordelia demanded. "He has those stupid vision things all the time! But look at my TOP!! And my SKIRT!!"

The two men glanced at Cordelia. Remnants of iced coffee, whipped cream, and chocolate continued to drip down her top and skirt and onto the hardwood floor. Her tan silk top had an ugly, dark brown stain on the front. More frightening and intimidating to the two men, however, was the look of unmitigated fury on the young woman's usually-lovely face. She glared ferociously at the recovering Doyle, and kept glancing angrily at Angel as though she expected the vampire to tear his friend's head off for her any second now.

"Um, I gotta go take care of this nest…thing…" Angel mumbled, rising to his feet. "Cordy, you can, uh, use my place to clean up…" Angel grabbed his long, black coat from the rack. With one frightened glance at the enraged female, and the briefest of sympathetic looks at Doyle, Angel turned and launched himself out the front door, heading for the sewer tunnels, which seemed, for once, like a much more desirable place to be.

Doyle slowly, miserably pushed himself up from the floor, looking at Cordelia sheepishly. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly but soundlessly, like a fish out of water gasping for breath.

"One word from you, and I'll make sure you'll fit inside the next Guinness glass you meet," Cordelia warned him, then stormed through Angel's office to the stairs that led down to the vampire's basement apartment.

Doyle watched her leave, then walked over to a nearby wall. In spite of the usual, excruciating post-vision headache, he felt it necessary to add to the pain by despondently thumping his forehead repeatedly against the wall's hard, unyielding surface.


	2. Chapter 1

**The Strength of the Righteous **

_An Angel fanfic by Sisiutil _

* * *

This fanfic takes place early in the first season of Angel and features Angel, Cordelia, and Doyle.

This story is fictional and does not contain any references to any actual persons living or dead. All characters contained in this story who appeared in Angel are the property of Mutant Enemy, etc.

* * *

Chapter 1

Before he saw the nest, Angel could smell it.

As he emerged from the dank sewer tunnel into the basement of the building Doyle had described, Angel reflected—not for the first time—on the mixed blessing, if that was the appropriate word, of possessing enhanced vampire senses. The acute hearing and scent capabilities were, of course, ideal for any predator. In the animal world, though, an enhanced sense of smell was usually accompanied by sensitive taste buds, but not in a vampire. To a creature such as himself, nothing but blood, human blood in particular, carried any sort of a taste; everything else was like vanilla ice cream, but without the vanilla. Or the cream.

But a vampire's sense of smell was potent. Angel could detect and distinguish the scents of people and other creatures. It's how he'd known, within seconds after first meeting Doyle, that the Irishman wasn't entirely human. Not only that, Angel could also gather clues about a person's emotional state from their scent—whether they were under stress, angry, afraid…yes, like a dog, he could smell fear.

Now _that _ was a sure-fire conversation-killer at parties.

Angel emerged silently into the basement of the abandoned apartment block. His dark eyes glanced around warily as the smell hit him full-force. The scent of a vampire nest was distinguished not so much by the vampires themselves, but by their victims. Since vampires didn't breathe or sweat, they didn't have much of a scent. Humans confronted my demonic monsters and a gruesome, violent death, however, left a particularly pungent and almost overwhelming odor behind. As Angelus, he had relished the smell of human fear for nearly two hundred years: the cold, terrified sweat, the loss of bowel control, and the heart pumping all that luscious blood through the arteries, faster and faster as he leaned forward, mouth agape, to…

Angel shook his head to clear it. He was still a vampire, ensouled or not, and the hunger lingered within him. No one could possibly understand the tremendous force of will it required, day after day, to resist the urge to feed.

The dark-featured Champion shrugged his shoulders and glared into the darkness of the basement. He could hear, at the far end of the long, concrete-lined cellar, the shuffling sound of the vampires who'd made this place their home. He could also hear—and, of course, smell—the disconsolate and pathetic whimpering of the vampire's intended victim. He couldn't see the person, but he could already smell him. Male, early middle age, slightly overweight…and terrified. Then Angel frowned. There was something else. Another scent, not strong, but there. A human female. Quite young, too. He shook his head. Probably that of a previous victim of the nest, lingering in the dank air.

Angel walked forward into the basement, his long, dark coat waving around his lower body and legs. He could see five…no, six vampires, four males and two females. A bit of a challenge, but nothing he couldn't handle. He kept his appearance human. His strategy was simple: sneak into their midst quietly, throw them off by appearing human, get close and, before they detected his true nature, stake them all with the spring-loaded weapons attached to his wrists. He eyed the largest male vampire, who projected an air of command. Probably the most dangerous of the bunch. Angel pegged him as the first one to dust.

He was within a few yards of them now, and could see the victim, who was tied to a chair and was surrounded by the six vampires. He was white, slightly overweight, his dark hair balding, though he sported a sad-looking comb-over to try to hide that fact. He had two-day-old stubble on his face. He was dressed in loose-fitting jeans, a white t-shirt, and a plaid long-sleeve shirt. Typical L.A. street trash. Evidently the nest didn't have very high standards for its meals.

Angel was almost upon them, and still they hadn't detected him. They seemed intent on their victim. They were talking to him in low, hushed tones—taunting him with details of his impending death, no doubt. Angelus used to love doing that. The memory of his own sadistic past made Angel all the more determined to wipe the nest out.

But then he finally heard what the lead vampire was saying, and it stopped him dead in his tracks.

"…you have been found guilty of perpetrating evil crimes against your fellow humans. You must be punished, and stopped. Thus, we will…"

The leader, his features distorted by his vampire features, stopped speaking as his predatory eyes finally detected Angel standing nearby. His dark hair was long and loose; his lanky body was clothed in a pale blue denim shirt and jeans. He stared at Angel, his nose twitching slightly as he strained to detect the scent of his fellow vampire. A moment later, his nest-mates turned to look at the dark-clothed interloper.

"Who are you and what do you want?" the leader challenged him.

Angel glanced at each of the other vampires in turn, his heavy brows furrowed into a frown, then spoke. "I'm confused and I want an explanation."

The leader of the group smiled slightly, revealing his elongated fangs. "Of course you're confused by what you just heard. You're a vampire. An evil, blood-sucking demon that must be destroyed." Angel watched as two of the other vampires pulled wooden stakes from beneath their clothing. They couldn't have surprised him more if they'd pulled out crosses.

"Okay, that's supposed to be my line," Angel muttered as he eyed the suddenly-hostile vampires.

The lead vamp held up his hand, signaling his compatriots to hold off their attack. His bulbous, distorted brow creased slightly into a frown. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, not to steal your thunder or anything," Angel said, "but…I'm the vampire that usually goes around punishing the wicked, protecting the innocent, and all that. It's kind of my job. I have business cards and everything."

One of the female vampires, a slender one with short red hair, gasped, then looked at the leader, her demonic features curling into a delighted smile. "It's him!" she declared. "He's the one!"

The leader signaled to her to be silent. His eyes never left their wary study of Angel's tall, powerful form. "What is your name, stranger?" he asked.

"I'm Angel," the Champion responded.

"The ensouled one!" the leader whispered reverently, his dark, predatory eyes opening wide.

His followers gasped, and delighted smiles lit their faces. Almost as one, their vampire faces faded, leaving their human features displayed. They all looked at him as though their favorite rock star had just walked into their midst. Angel shifted his weight, feeling more than just a little embarrassed—not to mention confused—by their rapturous regard.

"Uh, well, yeah," Angel admitted. "Though that fact isn't usually greeted with this sort of enthusiasm by, um, our kind. You guys do know you're vampires, right?"

"Of course!" the leader, his features human now but still enthused, admitted readily. "But that doesn't mean we have to be evil!"

Angel's frown grew more furrowed. He shifted his weight again. "Uh, well, actually, it does. I mean, usually. Unless…you all have souls too?" he asked dubiously.

"Unfortunately, no," the lead vamp answered sadly. His nest-mates' heads lowered shamefully. "But we have minds of our own. We have free will. We have chosen to do good rather than evil. It is a difficult path for us. But you…you have a soul! You can guide us!"

Angel stared at them in shock. Was this a trick, he wondered? He quickly glanced behind himself, expecting to see another vamp creeping up for a sucker punch, but saw no one. He was tempted to look around for the hidden camera and half-expected Alan Funt to pop out at any moment.

"Okay, wait a minute, wait a minute," Angel grumbled, shaking his head in agitation. "You _ are _about to kill this guy, aren't you?"

"Why, yes," the lead vamp admitted.

"Please, mister, help me!" the victim finally spoke up, his voice tight with fear.

"Silence, evil-doer!" the female vamp who'd first regarded Angel with enthusiasm snarled at him. She drew back her arm as if to slap the man; he whimpered and fell silent.

Angel raised his right hand and began to rub the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache starting, right behind his eyes. Had he crossed a dimensional portal into some sort of bizarro, twisted universe?

"I just know I'm going to regret asking this," Angel muttered, "but why are you going to kill him?"

"He has done terrible evil, ensouled one!" the red-headed female vampire explained. "Can't you smell the stench of his sin? It's all over him!"

"I don't know what…" Angel began to say, then the words froze in his throat as he suddenly identified the other human scent he'd detected earlier. A young human female—a child. Only she wasn't here. Yet her scent—the scent of her blood, and of her terror—was all over the man tied to the chair. Mingled with it was not just his own scent, but the unmistakable smell of the man's sweat and…other bodily fluids. Angel's face suddenly roiled with disgust.

"Yes, you smell it now, don't you?" the leader said. "We found him with her. We returned her to her family, alive, but not before he'd had his way with her. He's evil. He must be punished."

"Well…yes, but…" Angel stammered. He could never have imagined this scenario, not in his wildest dreams. He was thrown for a loop about the size of Pluto's orbit.

"Then we are in agreement," the leader said with satisfaction. Accompanied by a crunching sound of folding bone and stretching skin, his demonic visage reappeared. His followers also went back into vamp-face. "Carry out the sentence," the leader said to his nest-mates.

As one, the other five vampires fell upon the child molester. Their fangs tore at his throat and shoulders, then they slurped the blood from his body as his heavy body writhed in its death throes. A horrified scream erupted from the man's mouth, then faded to a whimper, then silence. Their leader watched the man's gruesome death with righteous satisfaction.

And Angel watched them kill the man without moving a muscle.


	3. Chapter 2

**The Strength of the Righteous **

_An Angel fanfic by Sisiutil _

* * *

This fanfic takes place early in the first season of Angel and features Angel, Cordelia, and Doyle.

This story is fictional and does not contain any references to any actual persons living or dead. All characters contained in this story who appeared in Angel are the property of Mutant Enemy, etc.

* * *

Chapter 2

"I can't believe you have a problem with this!"

Cordelia was standing in front of Angel's desk in his office at Angel Investigations. She was dressed in a burgundy silk shirt and black track pants that were obviously several sizes too large for her. Doyle was standing in the doorway, listening to the exchange sheepishly, obviously wondering what he could possibly do to make up for his earlier _faux pas_. Angel was, as usual, brooding; but there were degrees to his broodiness, and since he'd returned from the vampire nest, he'd been shifting from "Grande" to "Venti" Brood, as Cordilia had put it. Speaking of Cordy, she wasn't helping Angel's mood. The fact that Cordelia had helped herself to Angel's wardrobe--especially his favorite shirt--did nothing to improve Angel's disposition. Still, as long as Doyle didn't bring any iced coffee drinks near her while she wore those clothes, Angel decided he really shouldn't worry. Not when he had other things on his mind.

"I mean, a bunch of vamps want to play vigilante and take out some disgusting pervert?" Cordelia went on. "I'm tempted to back up a truck to the blood bank and load it up with tasty snack packs for them!"

"That's not the issue, Cordelia," Angel explained patiently as his secretary eyed him dubiously. "Yes, the man they killed was...despicable. But his crime was a human crime, and should have been dealt with by human courts."

"Oh yeah," Cordelia responded, with double the usual layer of sarcasm in her voice. "Because we know the court system always works, since it's run by honest lawyers like our good friends at Wolfram and Hart--who Uncle Pervy, former, probably had on retainer. And it would have worked out great in this case, because we all know what fine, upstanding citizens and excellent witnesses vampires make." Angel looked at her, his dark brows raised in mild offence. "Present company excepted, of course," she added, with unusual sensitivity on her part.

"If you don't mind my saying so..." Doyle began to say.

"I do," Cordelia interjected without turning around to even favor him with an angry glare. "Intensely."

Doyle coughed abashedly and proceeded. "Well, I think you're lookin' at this from the high point of the slippery slope. I mean, murderers and rapists is one thing, but supposin' these do-gooder vamps decide that, say, some hypothetical person who's only committed--allegedly, I might add--a few petty crimes, of a purely victimless nature, would make a worthwhile meal?"

Cordelia finally turned to look at Doyle, her disdain evident in her lovely features. "If your hypothetical felon's wardrobe was terminally stuck in the seventies, then I'd say their fashion crimes might just tip the scales of justice against them."

"Oh, please," Doyle said. "Okay, look at it another way. What if Angel was to start goin' around, munchin' on the wicked? How'd you feel about that, then?"

"That's different," Cordelia responded, shaking her head and looking at Doyle as if he was an idiot--which is how she usually looked at him, but even more so at the moment. "Angel has a soul. He doesn't kill people, and he certainly doesn't eat them. Any more."

"HA!" Doyle exclaimed. He turned to Angel, looking for support. "You see? She has a double standard!"

"I have many standards, you sad little Irish spaz, none of which you share or meet," Cordelia responded with an insincerely sweet smile.

"Neither of you are helping," Angel muttered impatiently as he pushed himself out of his chair and began to pace around his office. "I'm not sure what to do with these vampires. I'm not even sure if I believe them."

"I hear ya," Doyle remarked. "Soulless vampires, wanting to do good? Is that even possible? Did they explain how this sudden change of their unbeatin' hearts came about?"

Angel shrugged. "Their leader, John, said he ate a priest a few months ago, and claims some of the man's...essence...flowed into him. He turned his back on evil, and found some other vampires and convinced them to do the same."

"What, by chowing down on a holy man?" Cordelia asked. "Maybe you should have tried that."

"It's not supposed to work that way!" Angel protested. "I mean, I killed _ scores_ of priests and nuns, and I never..." He glanced at Cordelia and Doyle, both of whom were looking at him with distaste and no small amount of shock. "Okay...too much information, huh?" he said quietly.

"Thanks for the reminder that I work for an evil undead psychopath," Cordelia answered sharply. "Between that and the mochacinno body rub, I'm having a great day."

"So what are gonna do about 'em?" Doyle asked Angel, anxious to change the subject, but Cordelia had already turned on her heel and returned to the front office, walking by him without so much as a glance to acknowledge his existence.

"I suppose I'll take them at their word for now," Angel said quietly. "They did ask me to guide them, seeing as how I have a soul and all. Maybe..." he said, pausing as he frowned, "maybe that's why you had the vision, why the Powers sent me to find them. Maybe they can be allies."

"And about time, too!" Doyle said. "We could use some. Collecting enemies--especially powerful and dangerous ones--is turnin' into a real unhealthy hobby o' yours."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Doyle," Angel muttered.

* * *

Later that night, Alonzo Lopez was running for his life.  
  
Strangely, he wasn't afraid of death. He'd never expected to live long; at least half of his childhood friends were already dead. Poor, young Latino males in East L.A. often had a short life expectancy. Alonzo had managed to steer clear of drugs for the most part--well, he didn't _take_ drugs, at least, his momma would have killed him herself if he had. But he'd always expected to go die young. He even looked forward to it. He imagined himself going down fighting, his handgun blazing gloriously at one end or another of a drive-by shootout. He'd expected to have the sort of death they rave on about in the 'hood for years afterwards.  
  
That wasn't the sort of death he was facing now, not by a long shot. Which was why he was running. Running from the monsters. Their pursuit had tapped into some dark, primordial fear within Alonzo. So he ran.  
  
He hadn't run at first. He'd emptied a full clip into several of them, and it had barely slowed them down. They were gaining on him now, chasing him down a dark, abandoned alley. He could hear their snarls and growls echoing off the high brick walls around him. He chanced a look back over his shoulder. The ambient light of the city hit their faces, and for a moment he could see their hideous, bulbous foreheads. He'd been close enough at one point to see their eyes, their horrible red eyes that glowed like some big huge mutant cat out of some frickin' monster movie. And the teeth. No, the _fangs_.  
  
He'd never seen vampires before that night, hadn't thought they were real since he was twelve, but somewhere deep inside him, Alonzo knew that was what these creatures were. Except they didn't waltz around in a tuxedo and a cape like the guy in that old movie. No, they moved fast--too fast--and they were more like animals than human beings. They'd approached him and glowered and snarled like a pack of feral dogs. Alonzo and his brother had been chased by a pack of wild city dogs once, years ago. This was worse.  
  
He rounded a corner, still running full-tilt, his arms pumping, sweat running down his face and back and staining his sleeveless grey t-shirt. The alley was a dead end. But he didn't stop. There was a chain-link fence at the end. Alonzo had known it was there; this was his 'hood, he knew it like the back of his hand, hell, better. Over the fence. Around a corner. Up a fire escape. Lose them on the rooftops. Then he'd be safe. He just had to get over the fence, let it slow them down...  
  
He jumped and hit the chain-link fence at full speed, his fingers grasping desperately at the thick gauge wire. He propelled himself upwards. He could hear the monsters' footfalls getting closer. He willed himself not to look back, to focus on climbing. He reached the top of the fence. He pushed himself over the top, felt the sharp end of one of the links cut into his belly, ignored the pain.  
  
Something grabbed his ankle. Alonzo shrieked. He shook his foot frantically, panicking. _Not now, I'm almost there! _But he couldn't shake the creature's grip loose. Another hand--no, a claw, these things didn't have hands--grabbed his pant leg, then another one grabbed his free leg. They pulled him down, dragged him off the top of the fence. He fell back onto the pavement, still in their grip. The other monsters descended on him, grabbing his limbs as he writhed and struggled like some prey animal in the grip of a pack of wolves, but it did him no good.  
  
"Struggle no more, evil-doer," one of the monsters ordered him, but though Alonzo stared wild-eyed at the tall, slender vampire who had spoken to him, he did not stop fighting. He screamed angrily, tried to get one of his limbs free, but the creatures held him fast.  
  
Their leader drew back his hand and backhanded the struggling human with tremendous force. Alonzo's head whipped to one side, blood spraying from his split lip. The vampires gasped and snarled hungrily at the sight of his blood. The force of the blow made Alonzo cease his ineffectual struggling. Dazed, he turned his head back to look at the vampire who had just struck him.  
  
"You sell poison to your fellow humans," the lead vampire declared solemnly, his fanged mouth twisted in disgust, "including children."  
  
"H-hey, bro'," Alonzo said, his voice shaking with fear as he attempted to reason with these creatures. "It's nothing, just a li'l blow. Hey, you want me to stop? I'll stop, scout's honor, man!"  
  
"It is too late for that," the lead vampire declared. "You have committed evil and must be punished."  
  
The lead vampire snarled, baring his fangs, then knelt down and bit into the captive drug dealer's throat. Alonzo screamed as he felt the vampire tear open his jugular, then whimpered as his compatriots joined in, biting at his neck, his shoulders, his wrists. He could feel his blood, his life, being sucked out of him as his body grew limp.  
  
As his eyes rolled back into his head and his spirit left him, Alonzo Lopez realized he had but one regret: his girlfriend Theresa, he'd found out just that week, was pregnant. He'd never get to see the child. His last thought was a silent prayer to the Virgin Mary that it would be a girl. Girls had it tough in the 'hood too, but at least they usually lived longer.

* * *


End file.
